


anywhere but here

by crypticjeggings



Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Industrial Revolution, Gen, Period-Typical Racism, Season 1 Spoilers, also about the racism tag its just a couple comments uwu, this was for a writing competition, vanya is the only character really talked about here
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-22
Updated: 2019-03-22
Packaged: 2019-11-28 02:02:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,296
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18202007
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crypticjeggings/pseuds/crypticjeggings
Summary: Vanya has a monotonous life, yet one filled with struggles nonetheless. A Russian immigrant working in the city during the early 1900s, she tries to turn her eyes away from what others are going through and focus on her own safety.Sometimes she can't help but snap.





	anywhere but here

There actually was something charming in countryside life, Vanya mused to herself as she scrubbed away at the ragged clothes she wore on an almost daily basis. Simple tasks, growing some food for yourself, having control over what you did. Too bad it was too late for her to ever return to that now.

City life was like a trap. You come out here to get a bit of money for your family back home, or to pursue your aspirations. Instead you get stuck inside a factory day and night, praying for an extra morsel of food or that you would get a raise of a penny or two (not that it ever happened). You’d be caught in an endless loop of “I can make more” or “I’m doing this for someone I love”, but instead of ever escaping you’d find yourself shuffling along the dirtied streets, envious of the middle-class women with the extravagant feathers in their hats, pitiful for the children begging with full-moon eyes for a scrap of food, their once-light clothes stained dark.

Vanya had gotten up early that morning to wash her clothes. Well, earlier than usual. Today she would have to go to work in her second pair of clothes, ones she hated because of its ratty and torn nature. She finished scrubbing them with the soap she’d splurged on last month and hung them out to dry, and then she was off to breakfast.

She couldn’t afford to eat much these days, almost all of her money being sent abroad to her relatives back in Russia. The table was tiny, so she sat in the corner instead of disturbing the family who so graciously lent out their room to people like her. 

The father was a man by the name of Reginald, with a monocle always stuck in front of his eye. He seemed to dress rather well for someone of their class, but Vanya never tried to question it. The mother was named Grace, a blonde woman who worked as a nanny for a middle-class family part of the month. They simply had a son, an observant boy with too much wisdom in his eyes for his age. She knew how much he wanted to go to school, but like the rest of them he was obliged to work in the factories. Vanya really did hope he was able to get a proper education someday, he seemed like a smart lad who could make something good out of himself.

“Do you mind if I sit here?” Asked the other woman who roomed here. Vanya gave her a small smile and scooted over to make room. She went by the name of Allison, and she always tried to stay quiet. Vanya knew that it must be difficult to find a family who would rent to a black girl in this part of town.

As for the others, there were 4 of them. A lot of people crammed into one space, but it was better than the places some of her coworkers lived. There was Luther, a man who seemed to take up too much space and who always seemed like he wanted to shrink into himself. He had left early in the morning it seemed, and Vanya faintly recalled something about him saving enough money to visit home for the first time in over a year. 

There was Diego, a man who made his living as a shoe-shiner. The father of the family sometimes muttered about how he was up to no good, and that he didn’t understand why he let a man like that rent from them. A “man like that” meaning someone with a darker complexion and whose accent still lingered even after years of city life. Diego wasn’t there either, but Vanya guessed that when she left she would find him crouched on the streets like always, buffing the shoes of some middle-class man.

“Good morning,” came the voice of Klaus, an Irish man who had lived here since he was just a boy. 

Both Allison, Vanya, and the boy glanced up at him. “Good morning,” Vanya echoed.

And then it was silence again. No one really talked to each other much, tense in anticipation of a long day ahead.

Vanya finished her meal, and stood up to finally head off to work. She nodded to the family then exited the building. On her way she passed the 6th tenant, Ben, coming back from the night shift. He was quiet most of the time, and she didn’t pay much attention to him. She had a longer walk to work, and it was uncomfortable among the crowd of pedestrians also making their daily commute. 

The day seemed to fade by, yet drag on all at once. It was always that way. The work was repetitive, the weeks all the same, but it didn’t stop how agonizingly boring the work was. Her job was sewing the hem of a waistband, and then another hem, and then another, and yet again, another. While she had first found the buzzing of several dozen sewing machines annoying, she now enjoyed the peaceful white noise that helped her fade into a mindless routine. 

Then there was a clatter. 

Her head shot up, along with several other women. A young girl, most likely not older than twelve, sat on a stool while clutching an injured hand. A cut had sprung across her index finger, and the scissors dropped by her feet indicated where both the noise and wound had come from.

Within moments, one of the people who kept a careful eye on the workers was on her, admonishing her for holding up the process and for cutting herself so she couldn’t work until the blood had stopped. The child sat there, looking shaken and scared, flinching at the raised voice.

By now, the other women had gone back to their work, not wanting to be the next one yelled at. But Vanya couldn’t take her eyes off of the scene, over the girl trying not to cry, and something in her shifted. A rage seemed to surge in her chest, unrestricted and unafraid of the consequences of not quelling it. Vanya seemed to shake a little, her sewing stopped, and she seemed barely aware of what she was doing when she stood up. All eyes were suddenly on her, wide and fearing. They knew what happened to girls who tried to stand up for themselves.

Then Vanya let out a scream, and the world seemed to screech and bend and the superior was thrown backwards against a wall, tipping over a wastebasket full of fabric scraps. The machines were suddenly all dented and bent, but no woman was hurt. All the workers were suddenly shouting, stumbling out of their chairs in shock of what happened. It was chaos, a chaos that Vanya appreciated as she ran over to the child and gently grabbed her injured hand to look at the small amount of blood slowly dripping from it.

“What did you do,” the girl whispered, eyes staring up and lip trembling. “Are they gonna hurt you?”

The reality of what Vanya had just done, what had just happened, was starting to sink in. But Vanya put a smile across her face, if only to comfort this kid who shouldn’t have to be working in this goddamn place.

“They won’t if we get out.”

And so Vanya took the girls other hand and ran, concealed by the ruckus happening around her. They ran together, and Vanya was determined to take her and get them out. Get them out of this city, out of these factories, out of this world where they had no room to be a child.

She would find a way.

 

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading!! very tempted to do more with this au....


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